


take me now as the sun descends

by janie_tangerine



Series: celluloid heroes [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Jon Snow, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Femdom, First Dates, Kink Discovery, Minor Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Robb Stark is a Good Bro, Rope Bondage, Scars, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 12:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which Jon and Ygritte get to know each other.[or: the porn spinoff no one asked for but that I needed to put into existence.]





	take me now as the sun descends

**Author's Note:**

> Tldr: I've been wanting to cover what these two where doing during the infamous weekend in which Robb and Theon hooked up in the previous fic. Again, I need to exorcise the horrid election results and I've had a few people on tumblr asking if I was going to write some porn for this ship these last few weeks, so here you go, HAVE THE PORN. This has no redeeming quality. Also probably doesn't make sense if you haven't read the previous fic but tldr: Theon and Ygritte are lead actors in a movie they're shooting in Ireland, Robb owns the pub in the place Theon sleeps at and they hooked up but Robb doesn't know he's an actor, Jon and Ygritte met through Theon and she asked him out and that was what went on while the throbbs were hooking up.
> 
>  **warnings of sorts** : if you read the first fic you probably remember that Jon was ex military and hadn't dealt with it greatly, if you hadn't now you know. Also at some point he recalls a few fairly bad dating experience post-military so thread carefully if it's not your thing. But really other than that this is.. just... porn + tooth rotting fluff.
> 
> Also: nothing belongs to me (I wish), the title is from springsteen/patti smith whichever version of that song you prefer and I only own the porn for better or worse. Really. *saunters back downwards*

_I’m going to sorely regret this_ , Jon thinks as he glances at himself in the mirror for a split second and just looking at his outfit before scowling and deciding that it’s not fucking worth it.

It’s not even that he ever dated much in the first place so he can barely remember the etiquette (and all the _dating_ he’s done after he got shipped back home is something he likes to not even think about), it’s that there’s some days where just looking at his own face makes him think about all the fairly wrong choices he’s ever taken and this is one of them, and honestly, given that Ygritte asked him out when he’s done absolutely nothing to encourage such a thing, she probably won’t care what he’s wearing.

He ends up settling on black trousers, black shirt and his father’s (probably he should say _uncle’s_ but he never quite _could_ ) old leather jacket, and he doesn’t even try putting some concealer on the gash cutting through his right cheek - it’s not the angry red it used to be back in the day but it’s not _white_ either and if Sansa were here maybe she’d manage to cover it, but _he_ does’t have that much skills with make-up. He pulls on his gloves, grabs his wallet and keys and decides that as far as he’s concerned he’s good to go. He’s even on time, Ygritte should pull up in front of the pub in five minutes at most.

Shit. He doesn’t think he was this nervous the first time he asked someone out in high school, but in high school he hadn’t gone through seven years in the army and three of complete utter misery after it. And he _knows_ that he’s hardly great company, but - well, at most she’ll see that she’s really not being smart here, and he gets a night out.

“Hey,” Robb tells him as he walks downstairs. “Wow. You know, Sansa is right when she says you clean up fine.”

“Shut up,” Jon sighs, “you’ve put a lot more effort into it. When is your guy coming?”

“Some thirty minutes from now.”

 _Hopefully he’ll tell you he doesn't guidebooks for a living_ , Jon doesn’t say. He still doesn’t have a clue of _why_ Theon is that fixed on not telling Robb the truth, but he thinks he’ll play along for now - especially since he’s supposed to come over tonight. If he fucks it up, Jon’s definitely not going to be above spilling.

“But never mind that. You do look good, you know?”

“Robb, I doubt that, but thanks. Anyway, don’t expect much from this.”

“You really can’t help being negative about everything, can you?”

“It doesn’t set you up for disappointment.”

Robb rolls his eyes and shakes his head, putting a hand on his arm.

“Maybe, but - never mind. Someone’s just pulled up, go have fun.”

“I wish, but at least I’m getting out, I guess. See you tonight,” he says, and gets out of the pub.

It’s indeed Ygritte - she’s driving some red rental car and for a moment he feels relieved that she hasn’t dolled herself up or anything. She’s not wearing make-up and he thinks she has on some kind of very non descriptive trench coat, so at least he’s not looking like he underdressed or _something_.

She grins when she sees him walk out of the door.

It’s damned _weird_ but he half-heartedly grins back and gets on the passenger side of the car.

“Just so you know,” she says, “you’re already scoring points for being on time.”

“Why, most people you date can’t keep an appointment?”

“You don’t even want to know,” she says, then puts the car into drive and heads for the highway’s direction. “So, we have some forty-five minutes before we get there, give or take. Usually, I’m of the opinion that the driver picks the music but this time I think I can forfeit that right.”

“I don’t mind if you want to,” he says immediately.

“Jon, not to pry, but when was the last time you went out for drinks with someone? If you want to answer, of course.”

“Er, years ago. Did you guess?”

“Yes, because you look like a fish out of water and I don’t like people I bring out for drinks to feel like shit about it, so how about you make yourself comfortable? Pick something, I’ve got some CDs in the glove compartment.”

He doesn’t argue that point because he _does_ feel like a fish out of water, so he opens the compartment and finds a container with a stack of burned records - _some_ is an understatement, it’s at least fifty.

He goes through them, rolling his eyes at the _Spice Girls_ greatest hits but approving of the presence of Patti Smith’s discography - she does like female singers with peculiar voices, he decides after wading through almost the entire batch. He’s almost tempted to go for some random Patti Smith record that she’ll most definitely like… until he notices that the last record is Christ Cornell’s _Unplugged in Sweden_.

He puts it on and she grins approvingly. “I should’ve guessed you were into grunge,” she says.

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Why?”

“Theon’s figured it out, too,” he mutters.

“You have the right face for it. Anyway, that’s a killer record, so congratulations, good taste. Though I did see you rolling your eyes at the Spice Girls.”

“Hey, if it’s your thing -”

“Jon Snow, before this weekend’s over you will realize why you should never roll your eyes at the Spice Girls, but there’s a time for everything. So, what’s your favorite song out of this record at least? Keep me entertained, I need to get to Galway without falling asleep.”

 _Good thing she can keep a conversation going_ , he thinks, but as he tells her that he’s partial to _Fell On Black Days_ he’s feeling slightly less paranoid about this entire situation.

——

When he realizes that according to her, _bringing someone out for drinks_ means a _fish restaurant_ and not a pub, he’s tempted to chicken out, or if anything to convince her that it’s really not necessary, but she says she’s actually booked a table, that she knows it’s fairly good and they also have excellent alcohol all around and she looks so - _hyped_ about _finally eating decently after weeks of catering_ that he eventually doesn’t. It’s not that he’s underdressed - she is, too - but it’s that he already feels like shit at getting by with paying from Robb’s account, he doesn’t want to splurge on food that’s definitely going to be more pricey than usual.

The fact that Robb doesn’t mind and keeps on telling him _you fucked up your life to send over an extra paycheck, I think I can let you have access to my bank account_ doesn’t change that he feels horrible about it.

Still. He’s not going to ruin things by being _horribly_ negative and he follows her inside.

Turns out that the place is nice - it’s not too flashy but they definitely aren’t slouching, and patience if looking at the cocktail prices he feels like asking _what does even go into that_.

Good thing that he never was a man of very complicated tastes. Also, they’re getting _fish_ , so he settles on white wine and ends it there - at least the waiter is young and around their age and he compliments him on the choice before leaving.

“Well, now you’re a wine expert other than being good at taking pictures?” She asks, but - she actually sounds _interested_.

He clears his throat. “I wouldn’t go as far as saying I’m an _expert_ ,” he says, “but when I was, uh, overseas.” He doesn’t want to say it straight, if anything because he still hates that he went there in the first place. “There were a few Italians hanging around the same base. I ended up in their circle more than once and believe me, after a few months of _that_ , you’ll know the basics when it comes to good wine or the degrees of how coffee outside Italy is _bad_.”

“That drastic?”

“Well, there’s Italian coffee, then the rest ranks from _barely acceptable_ to _hot water_. Anyway, I know enough to impress waiters, I guess.”

“Nice,” she says, “care to share some of that knowledge?”

“Seriously?”

“Why not? I don’t know about the coffee, but the wine part of it sounds like stuff I might wanna know.”

He shrugs and starts doling her some advice, and shit _is she listening_ -

That is, until some kid comes by and clears his throat and asks her if she was the star of that _Wild Things_ miniseries, and would she mind terribly signing an autograph if she can?

She smiles at him and does, and then they go back to discussing wine -

Until _another_ kid shows up.

At the fourth one, who does when they’re nibbling on a mixed appetizer which Jon has to admit is really damned good fish, she doesn’t say no but she’s obviously halfway irked.

“Sorry about that,” she whispers. “I was trying to look, you know, like a regular person so they wouldn’t notice it was _me_ , but I guess people recognize me anyway.”

“It’s okay,” he immediately replies, “I supposed it’d happen. One would think that at least they’d wait until you’re done eating.”

“I wish,” she snorts. “And I’ve just done a pilot that will most likely get picked up and a miniseries. It’s just going to get worse.”

“Hm. I guess that’s why Theon hasn’t told my brother that he’s _really_ an actor, has he?”

“Wait, he’s dating your brother and he _doesn’t know_?”

“ _Well_ , they went out together this week and I think stuff happened, and they’re seeing each other tonight so I wouldn’t know about _dating_ but they definitely have a thing. And _no_ , but Robb hadn’t recognized him and he’s - not telling him.”

Ygritte almost chokes on her cocktail and shakes her head. “Well, it’s… remarkably _stupid_ if he wants it to be serious, but I honestly can’t blame him if he’s paranoid about people changing their opinions the moment they know he’s famous. If your brother’s anywhere like you he most likely wouldn’t give a fuck -”

“He wouldn’t,” Jon confirms.

“I figured. But - well, I can’t say I don’t understand. I mean, I’ve done a pilot and a miniseries. He’s done a way more popular tv show, he has regular appearances in _a lot_ of tv shows actually, and he’s also done movies. He has it worse.”

“Christ,” he says. “I wouldn’t - I mean, I don’t know how you do it. I’d lose my mind at the third person. By the way, you want me to scare them off?”

“Wait, _scare them off_?”

He shrugs and takes off his right glove, showing the burnt skin beneath. “I between this and _that_ ,” he says, touching the scar on his cheek, “I _can_ absolutely scare people off. Why do you think no one talks to me back in Barrowtown?”

“You know what,” she says, “feel free to. Especially if we’re eating.”

The next person he sees coming their way - some other kid with _two_ cellphones in his hands, gods, for how many people does he want a selfie? -, he turns and glares at him, putting all his best effort into it.

The kid _immediately_ retreats back to his place.

“Wow,” Ygritte whistles, “it _did_ work.”

“At least it’s good for something.” He shrugs and goes back to his fish - their trout is definitely good, nothing to say.

She keeps her eyes on his for a moment, then mutters something he can’t quite catch and goes back to eating. He glares at most other people who try to come close and it works admirably - they stop by the time they’re done with the main course, and no one bothers when they get dessert after another round of wine that she insisted he pick.

Well, it’s _good_ wine, and it’s good fish, and he’ll find a way to repay Robb after the bill arrives, he decides.

“Nice,” she says by the time they’re both well into their second course, “it’s been _ages_ since people left me alone for this long. We should totally do this more often.”

He’s about to say that he’s totally fine with putting his talents to good use, and then -

“Wait, you want to do it again?”

“What gave you the idea that I might not?” She asks, her tongue licking a smudge of sauce off the corner of her lips and for a moment he thinks, _I wish I had done that_.

 _Then_ he realizes what he’s just implied.

“Uh, it’s just - I don’t know. Guess I’m not used to be around people not related to me who think I’m not poor company.”

“How peculiar that you should ask that when I had a proposition.”

“I’m listening,” he says, eating the last piece of smoked salmon.

“See,” she says, “I thought we were having a moment here.”

“What if we might?” He concedes.

She smiles slightly wider. “Then there’s a nice bed and breakfast I know nearby. Or I can drive you back to Barrowtown if you don’t put out at the first date.”

He tries to not freeze - he had figured that it was where this entire evening was heading and he’d be an idiot if he did, especially when admittedly he said yes because she _is_ his type and he _does_ like her. Except that -

“Listen,” he says, “I - I have no problems when it comes to putting out at _any_ date. And the last thing I want is walking in on my brother and Theon being up to whatever it is that they are in Barrowtown. It’s just, uh, the last time I _put out_ , let’s just say it went _badly_ and I’m not sure -”

He gasps when her hand suddenly covers his wrist, grasping at it. “Let’s say,” she says, “that whatever happened _last time_ , I’m sure it can be worked around it and I’m highly in favor of the bed and breakfast option. Never mind that. So, it’s _that_ or driving back?”

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks. “I’m fine with the bed and breakfast option then.”

“Excellent,” she says, and asks for the bill.

Right.

He reaches for his wallet into his back pocket with his free hand, but then -

“ _I_ asked you out,” she says, squeezing tighter at his wrist. “I think it’s on me.”

“What - no, you don’t have to -”

“I insist. And it’s not like I can’t afford it. Thanks, but chivalry goes both ways,” she says, and he can hear in her tone that she won’t budge on this.

Fine then. At least he’s going to save money.

“Fine, but at least I’m leaving the tip.”

“Sounds fair,” she agrees. “You get the tip.”

She pays for the entire thing and he worries about that, and - shit. It’s just - every other time he went out with someone, it was somehow assumed that _he_ would pay and he always did and he doesn’t want to say that it felt nice to get treated for once, but -

It’s _weird_. But never mind. That’s really not what he’s worrying about here. But he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

——

The bed and breakfast is indeed nice - maybe a bit too green for his tastes, but he figures they have to appeal to tourists, and so he waits for Ygritte to get the key and follows her to the second floor. It’s a nice, clean room, and on further inspection he notices that there is even lavender behind the pillows. Definitely classier than most places he’s slept in when he was in the army.

“So?” Ygritte asks, locking the door.

“Oh, it’s - nice,” he immediately says. “Hell, if you saw some ditches I slept in, this’d look like five-star hotel material.” He also knows he’s staring at her mouth and shit, he _wants_ to kiss her, badly, or better -

It’s not that _he_ wants to kiss her, it’s that he thinks he wants _her_ to kiss him and he grimaces at the thought - yeah. Right. _That_.

“So what’s the issue?” She asks, moving closer, and fuck, if only he took two steps forward -

“Something we should get out of the way before we both get disappointed, I think,” he says carefully, and _shit_ , he has no idea of how he’s even going to say it.

“Now that sounds ominous. Okay, I’m listening.” At least she doesn’t sound like she finds his beating around the bush _amusing_ like a few other people did.

“It’s just - I’ve been with a few girls since I came back. All of them were fine with everything as long as I kept the glove on because, er, apparently _this_ hand here feels weird.” He raises his right hand, then lets it fall. “Admittedly I was looking for a few easy lays to get distracted, you know.”

“Hm. Was that just after you came back?”

“More or less. Anyway, I guess it’s - most of them were into - the whole ex military aspect, you know.”

“Which I have a feeling _you_ are not into.”

“Hell, I didn’t even want to go there and I regret having done that every other day, no, I’m not. So - it wasn’t great. But it was fine, I guess. Then, uh, my sister might’ve set me up with some friend of hers from uni who was _really_ into the ex military aspect. I wasn’t feeling it but I went along with it because Sansa had put some effort into organizing the entire set up.”

“I can already hear it went wrong,” Ygritte says.

“It went _terrible_ , I freaked out halfway and - well, she didn’t know what to do in the first place but at the point where she asked what the hell was my problem I might’ve just gone and left. And that was about the end of my _dating_ efforts.” He knows he’s still skirting around the subject, but he can’t quite bring himself to say it and he just hopes she guesses what he’s hinting at - after all, she’s sort of done that up until now, hasn’t she?

“Well, I can’t give a fuck about the _ex military aspect_ ,” she shrugs. “But I think that’s not the entire point, is it?”

“… Not really,” he admits. “I mean, that’s a good part of it. But - you know. With _that_ aspect comes - people expecting you to like certain things. If I explain myself.”

“You’re sort of skirting around the subject, but I think I get it,” she says, and _is she smiling_?

“Do you?” He retorts, hoping that she _did_ , because he doesn’t want to just say that -

“Let me guess, you ended up with a bunch of people who assumed that since you can handle a gun and took a few bad life decisions you also are into fucking people senseless or being all dominating and shit and instead you like the exact opposite?”

He almost wants to breathe out in complete fucking relief as she says it.

“What if you nailed it?” He asks, forcing himself to look upwards and to not feel like he’s somehow _weird_ for it - he knows that there’s nothing fucking weird about what position you prefer while fucking, but he’s spent years around people who assumed that if you were a _real man_ of course you’d like to top, and the less said about his possible dates assuming he _would_ since the beginning and then being sorely disappointed if he told them he’d rather have it the opposite way the better.

He almost freezes when her lips curl up in a _lovely_ smile that has nothing mocking in it.

“Well, I’ve never been into men who were _all dominating and shit_ ,” she says, and then she leans downwards and puts a hand behind his head, grasping at his hair, and he barely has time to worry about how all of a sudden his stomach isn’t feeling so clenched anymore because then she has indeed leaned down and kisses him, not tentatively, not hesitantly, and with such intent that for a moment he doesn’t even know how to answer, and then he kisses back the way he’s wanted to for days, and he doesn’t even try to _not_ follow the rhythm she’s dictating, and he moans into her mouth when her tongue touches his, and he doesn’t know how the hell they end up with him sitting up on the bed and one of her knees framing his hip as her hands angle his head upwards _better_ but when they break up for air he doesn’t think he wants to move.

“Was _that_ more you thing?” She asks, breathless.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t even try to deny it. “Definitely more my thing.”

Her thumb skirms over his scar and he shudders - most people didn’t _touch_ there.

“Does it hurt or -” She asks a moment later, moving his hand away.

“No,” he says. “Hasn’t for a while. The arm doesn’t either, at this point.”

“Excellent,” she grins. “Now that we established that, I vote we make good use of that bed, if you’re of the same opinion.”

“ _Fuck_ , yes,” he agrees immediately. He still doesn’t know what she’s expecting out of - whatever they’re doing, but if she really wants to - then who is he to say no, especially when it seems like for once he’s met someone he actually matches with in the bedroom?

“Right. By the way, if you feel like you might _freak out_ , tell me and we’re calling it off before there’s any damage to be had.”

“I don’t think -”

“ _Jon_ , just tell me you’re going to stop me if I do something wrong and don’t overthink it. You know, if you aren’t into the whole military thing either, _not saying if something’s wrong_ shouldn’t be your thing either.”

He _has_ to laugh at that - excellent point.

“Fine, I’m stopping you. But I can already tell it’s not going to happen.”

“Really. How so?”

He shrugs, then figures that he should tell her the truth. “Because you’re actually taking into account it might,” he finally settles on, hoping that she gets the drill.

“Let’s hope you’re right then,” she says. “You think you’d mind sitting a bit farther than that?”

He shakes his head, moving back until his knees are curled against the mattress.

“Great.” And then she’s moved her other leg on the bed so that both her knees are around his hips and her hands are in his hair again, tugging his face upwards, and she’s kissing him again but _slower_ , except that she’s also keeping his hair in a fairly strong hold, not enough to be painful but enough to make him notice it, and shit but he’s entirely down with it, he decides as he kisses back, following her pace and moaning into her mouth when her knees suddenly press _more_ against his hips. He considers putting his hands on her back but maybe it’s better if he uses them to prop himself upwards and so he doesn’t and settles on kicking off his shoes.

He also can’t help noticing that she has _some_ strength in her arms, but he figures that if she acts for a living she hits the gym more than he does.

(Actually he _doesn’t_ , he just might spend an unholy amount of time doing push-ups in his own room so that he just stops thinking about things he doesn’t want to think about.)

“So,” she says against his mouth after she’s made her point and broke the kiss off, “what do you like?”

“What?” He hadn’t been expecting _that_.

“Well, other than me being on top, but I figured that out.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“Er,” he stammers, letting out a relieved breath when her hand goes at the back of his neck, keeping it still, “you _do_ realize that until now no one else _figured that out_?”

“And you’ve never asked? Wait, never mind, stupid question. So, what it is that you _think_ you’d like?”

That’s - somewhat better. Except that -

“You’re doing that already,” he answers, wishing he was halfway decent at this kind of conversation.

“Are you saying that you only know what you _don’t_ like and you can stand to find out what you do?”

“… Hopefully it’s not utterly pathetic?” He tries to joke, though he doesn’t know if he’s doing a good job of it.

“Jon Snow, if you think I’m _not_ interested in helping you with that, you know nothing for real,” she says, her knuckles running over the right side of his face, and then her hands are on his wrists and before he can do anything to avoid it his back is on the mattress, his hands are pinned against it and she’s lying all over him.

“So,” she says, “how about this?”

He doesn’t even have to answer because a moment later her hips have moved downwards and her crotch is aligned with his and she can feel for herself how much this entire ruse is turning him on, and actually by now his trousers are starting to become too tight.

“Never mind,” she says, “I think you do.”

“Nice to see it was obvious,” he tries to say, but it comes out strangled.

“I also think you need to relax. You think you can keep your hands right there?”

He nods, wishing that her merely _asking_ him hadn’t just sent a new rush of blood to his nether regions.

“Great,” she says, leaving his wrists be, and then she moves back enough to start working on his belt and getting it open, and he keeps his hands where they are even if the temptation to reach out and undo her hair is strong, he doesn’t, and he merely moans in relief when she finally pulls down his trousers and gets rid of them along with his underwear. He’s kind of glad she’s not commenting on the fact that it was black, too, which back in the day had been a thing people noticed as if it was weird as hell he’d care about that. Ygritte nods approvingly when her eyes meet his again, then she seems to consider what she should do and then her mouth curls into a smirk that would have made his knees go weak, if he had been standing.

“Yeah, I think relaxing’s the first thing on the list. Care to keep still?”

“Yes,” he manages to say.

“Great. Just don’t move,” she says, and then she moves back and leaned downwards and -

And then her hands are on his hips and she’s leaning downwards and she’s taking her time licking along the head of his cock and he kind of had been planning on _not_ making too much noise but at that he stops giving a damn about whoever might be sleeping in the next room over, because he sadly can’t remember the last time someone actually gave _him_ head and not the contrary (which he never had a problem with but sometimes you want the same service paid back at you), and she takes her sweet time with it before she takes him in her mouth and starts sucking him off for real, and at _that_ he’s really not caring about anything bar the fact that she’s _good_ at it and she’s doing things with her tongue that are making his blood boil, and when she squeezes at his balls lightly, his back arches up and he just hopes he hasn’t choked her or anything but she just takes _more_ of his dick in her throat and - and at this point he’s way beyond caring that maybe he should last a bit longer than _not even five minutes_ , probably, but it’s been a damned long time and she’s making him see stars and he barely manages to warn her before he’s coming, but she merely moves back enough that she doesn’t risk choking when he does and -

 _Fuck_ , she’s swallowing, he realizes as he falls back against the mattress, and she actually doesn’t spit or anything when she finally moves back - she definitely is smiling like someone who knows she’s just given him the head of his life and is entirely smug with it.

Well, she should be.

“Look at that,” she says, sounding a bit hoarse, “you _haven’t_ moved them an inch.”

What -

Oh, his hands. Right. He - he actually hasn’t, but he doesn’t want to tell her that five years in the military made sure he could follow orders and it was actually the one thing he didn’t hate about it in _theory_ \- at least it gave you some structure, even if he didn’t particularly enjoy the specifics of most of the orders in question.

“What if I didn’t?” He asks, and - shit. He even sounds less tense, but then again there isn’t a single muscle in his body that _is_ right now.

“I guess we just found out something you _do_ like,” she says, climbing back up, moving so that she’s all over him again.

“What if I liked doing _that_ , too, just - not - being in charge?” He manages to say, and he hopes she gets it, too -

“I’d say it’s music for my ears,” she smiles. “And I certainly wasn’t planning on _that_ happening just once, so how about you show me how much talent you have for it?”

“How should I, then?” He asks, and the glint in her eyes is only too knowing.

“Move back,” she tells him, and he does, until his back is against the pillows, and she’s pinned his left wrist to the headboard.

Then she sits up.

“Do your thing,” she says, “but you can only use that hand.”

“… Really?” He asks, glancing at his right - fine, it’s perfectly functional, _but_ -

“If I don’t how it feels I’ll stop you, don’t worry. Whenever you like.”

Fuck. _Well then._ He swallows and opens up the button of her jeans, then pushes the zipper down and in between Ygritte raising her knees enough for him to push them downwards he manages to get rid of them enough that she can kick them off, and then he slowly moves down her red panties - it’s regular cotton, nothing special, but it matches the hair she has behind it and anywhere else, and he pushes them off her thighs until he reaches her knees and then she gets rid of them, too, moving slightly upwards so that she’s perfectly angled with his mouth and then she has just one hand on his wrists and another one is grasping at his hair.

Good.

He leans upwards and licks a stripe along her clit, and then she’s pushing his head against her - _good_ , exactly what he had been hoping for but couldn’t ask, and what if he can barely breathe, it’s _fine_ , he can totally last for a long time with minimal breathing. He takes his time running his tongue along her clit and occasionally grasping at the soft flesh around it with his teeth, drinking in every enthusiastic sound she makes, that is until he pushes his tongue inside her as much as he can manage, and then he moves back slightly and slides a finger inside her before going back to use his mouth - she’s so wet he can barely believe it, and then he angles his head so that he can run his tongue along her clit while fingering her at the same time, and he moans around it when he feels her hands running through his hair rather than pulling, and fuck but when her legs around him clench and _she_ clenches around his finger, it’s sliding in without a problem and when he feels her peak he doesn’t even think before burying his face against her crotch, and if his beard’s getting _very_ sticky, who gives a fuck.

He’s _way_ beyond giving a fuck, especially since she’s making it very clear that she’s greatly enjoying his skills, and whoever’s in the next room definitely heard her, and at the same time she’s still keeping his left hand _very_ still against the headboard and it shouldn’t be such a turn on but it _is_ and by the time her thighs relax around his shoulders enough that he can lean back, she’s come hard enough that his free hand is sticky as hell, and then she’s grabbed his wrist and she’s licking it clean and he’s halfway sure he’s getting hard again and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the case.

“Well, _fuck_ ,” she breathes a moment later, moving his wrists back to the pillows, her hold getting stronger, “has anyone told you that you’re _good_ at that?”

He shivers. “A few people,” he huffs. “But you’re the only one who’s ever got the full service.”

“You mean, with the hand, too?”

“Yeah,” he says. “That - didn’t feel weird, did it?”

“It felt _different_ , but not _bad_ different,” she says, “and good thing I bought condoms, because I think you deserve another round. Don’t move.”

He stays perfectly still as she reaches for her discarded bag and grabs a condom out of it and makes quick work of opening it and rolling it over him - he’s getting hard again but not enough that it’s _complicated_ or anything.

Then she obviously’s about to take her shirt off, but -

“Wait,” he says, “can I do that?”

“I thought you’d never _ask_ ,” she says way too sweetly for this circumstances, and she moves so that he actually _can_ do it - he pulls it over her head carefully, and then unhooks her bra (also red, same color as the panties, and _did she actually do that on purpose_?) and lets it fall on the ground, and -

Then he just stops with his hands on her hips, hoping that she keeps on guessing _right_ -

“How polite,” she says. “But you can touch, they’re not off-limits.”

And then she’s moving forward and she sinks on his cock, and she’s still so wet that he slides in without a hitch, and the moment one of his hands goes upwards to cup her breast she’s canting her hips downwards and he’s cursing under his breath, and then -

Then she moves a hand behind his head _again_ and pins his hands to the wall again, covering both wrists with her palm, and -

He doesn’t know how she guessed that he kind of had wanted to use his mouth but couldn’t muster up the guts to do it and then he just runs his tongue along one of her nipples while she sets the rhythm and he’s entirely _fine_ with it - shit, the fact that she’s actually _not_ weakening her hold the closer they both get to coming, again, is turning him on like crazy and the thing is that she’s not being _gentle_ as she rides him - she’s being fairly rough and fast, but her one hand in his hair is carding through it _very_ carefully, and the way she moans his name says all about how much she’s enjoying it. Fuck, he doesn’t even remember the last time he came twice in the same evening but he knows he _will,_ except that he wants to last a bit more than the first (embarrassing time) and so he tries to hold back even if it’s getting fairly difficult, but then -

“Are you - holding back?” Ygritte asks him just as her hips cant downwards again.

“What - what if I am?”

“Then - lovely of you, but I don’t really think we’re done. You -” She starts, then she suddenly slows down, her blue eyes staring down into his, and she seems to be putting two and two together as she stills.

“Or maybe,” she says, “you want _me_ to tell you when?”

He can only nod back, and before he can overthink what he’s just told her, her mouth is against his and she’s tugging at his hair _more_ and -

“Don’t you worry, I’m not done yet,” she breathes when she moves back. “Just let go, how about it?”

And -

He goes rigid, for a moment, and then he lets go and he thinks he was more turned on by the fact that she _told_ him to than anything else really, and he can feel her clench around him _again_ as he does and she’s kissing him again as he spills, and by the time he’s completely spent the sheets are a mess and they’re both sticky as hell and he can’t really bring himself to care, not when she’s just moved her hand from his crossed wrists and she’s sitting up next to him. She grabs his right arm and puts it over her thighs, and he lets out a relieved noise when she starts massaging his wrist, and when she moves on to the other.

“So,” she says after a few minutes of silence have passed and she’s definitely made sure his wrists aren’t hurting anymore with the effort he had put into _not_ moving them, “I think that went well.”

He _has_ to laugh a bit at that.

“Can’t disagree,” he slurs.

“See, you look a lot better if you’re not brooding. Wait a moment,” she says, turning on her side and grabbing something from the nightstand - turns out it’s a small bottle of water. She uncaps it before helping him to sit up enough that if he drinks some of it he won’t choke, and thing is, he _could_ reach out for it, but he doesn’t. She raises an eyebrow. He shrugs. She smirks slightly and puts it up to his lips - some of it runs on his chin, but whatever, he does swallow enough that he feels slightly more put together after.

She puts the bottle away.

“So,” she says, “I was thinking.”

“What?”

“I paid for the entire night, so we could stay here and drive back to your not so lovely little town tomorrow.”

He flinches without even stopping himself at the suggestion - he doesn’t really feel like going back just now and getting himself a reminder of all the reasons why he hates that place, and usually he’d have kept himself from doing it, but right now he’s too relaxed and feeling too - cracked open, probably, to even find the strength to lie about it.

“What I thought. Or, I could pay for the next night, too, and drive you back Sunday evening.”

“You - wait, and what would you like to do in the meantime?”

“I don’t know,” she smiles, “looks like there’s a lot of things you could try out. I mean, I suppose we should go out in the morning and do some shopping, also because neither of us was smart enough to bring a clothes change, but what if I told you I think you might _really_ like it if I tied you up a bit?”

He considers it and he probably doesn’t even have to answer since his throat goes dry the moment she suggests it.

“Right, that was a yes. You can pick the rope then,” she goes on, and he’d really like to know _how_ she’s just so matter of fact about this, but -

“I could be fine with that,” he tells her.

“Good. I could also do with seeing how many times in a row I can get you to come if you _don’t_ until tomorrow afternoon.”

He thinks that no, _now_ his throat has gone completely dry for real. Because fuck but he _would_ like that, he thinks, and -

“What if - you could go ahead and book the room?”

“Now _that_ is what I was hoping to hear,” she replies. “Will do first thing tomorrow morning, then. Meanwhile, you all right?”

“What - _yes_ ,” he immediately replies. “I mean, I thought it was obvious?”

“Oh, I _knew_ you had fun, I’m not so self-absorbed I wouldn’t notice. But since you’ve been freaking out about this entire thing since _before_ , I’m just making sure.”

At that he just - he doesn’t even know what to say because it’s not as if anyone’s ever asked him _that_ bar people who are related to him, not in the last ten years or so, and certainly no one _did_ the last time he tried talking to anyone he wasn’t related to.

“I don’t even know what I was expecting,” he says. “Robb always says I need to stop with the pessimist outlook but you know - then if things go wrong you don’t get disappointed, you know. But I guess I was wrong this time?” He hates that it comes out as a question, or that he keeps his eyes on hers just out of pure force of will, but then she shakes her head slightly and moves closer, her hand cupping the right side of his face. He’s _this_ tempted to kiss her palm but it feels like too much, maybe, he has no idea -

“I think you knew nothing and maybe now you know something,” she says, “and given that we’re both filthy and you look like you could use it, maybe you could go to the bathroom and get the shower going while I change the sheets, we could share the shower, sleep on it and worry about your pessimist outlook on life tomorrow, how about it?”

Shit, she _really_ sounds sure of it, and he has no idea of what she sees in him but at this point he’s too tired to doing what he thinks he’s supposed to, so he nods and he _does_ kiss her palm before standing up and heading for the bathroom. She looks… pleasurably surprised at that, which means he’s feeling pretty good about it as he stands up and checks the bathroom over - it’s large enough, and they’ll definitely fit in the shower at least. He takes a minute or two to figure out how the hell he’s supposed to turn it on - it has some kind of hellish system that makes him long for the old-ass taps in Barrowtown which might be old enough that you can’t see at once which is for the hot water and which is for the cold, but at least are straightforward, but by the time he’s managed, Ygritte has walked into the bathroom and grabbed some shampoo from a small cabinet near the sink.

“Right,” she says, “I changed the sheets. Just get in.”

“Do you mind if it’s… _hot_?” He asks, knowing that his cheeks are flushing, but he’s done enough cold showers to last him his entire life when he was overseas.

“Just put it however you want it, I won’t get scalded by hot water.”

Fair enough. He turns it so that it’s the hottest it can get and she closes the plastic screen, and he thought maybe she wanted to go for another round, but instead she stops him when he’s about to reach for the shampoo and pours some on her palm and proceeds to lather his scalp with all the calm in the world - he immediately glances down so that she has it easier and he suddenly thinks that it might as well be the first time anyone does that to him period, because by the time he went to live with his uncle he had been more than old enough to do it on his own and the less said about the system the better, and - fuck. It’s _nice_. He wouldn’t have asked, not really, but the fact that he didn’t have to is lifting a weight off his shoulders and so he lets her card through his hair until it’s clean and when she grabs a sponge and starts giving his back a wash he lets her, too, and he’s sincerely grateful that she’s not commenting about the - not extensive, but certainly not _nonexistent_ scarring along his back, never mind the burn on his arm but he’s not so self-absorbed to not figure out that she really seems to have no issue with _that_.

He _does_ ask her if he can return the favor, though, even if he feels like he could fall asleep on his feet.

“Maybe tomorrow morning,” she agrees, “but I think you’re beat and I just have to do my hair, don’t bother.”

So he doesn’t and he lets her finish, and he doesn’t protest when instead of handing him both towels she ties one around his waist while she lets him worry about his hair.

“Damn,” she says, “I guess neither of us has night clothes. You’ve got problems sleeping naked?”

“Not really,” he slurs, and he _doesn’t_ , who even cares. He’s done plenty worse. Given that the heating is turned on to the maximum neither of them bothers with actually drying their hair and not long later he slips under the covers, and he doesn’t know what to expect but maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that Ygritte climbs on the bed behind him and puts an arm around his waist, her chest pressing up against his back.

“Is it pathetic if you’ve just done a thing I always wanted to ask other people and never could?”

“Really?”

He snorts. “Well, might’ve happened with Robb a few times, but it was purely platonic.”

“I should hope this is not.”

“ _Of course not_ ,” he replies in mock outrage.

“Good. Go to sleep, tomorrow we can worry about buying some clothes and see if you get to find out whatever else you like. I’m pretty sure we’re both going to have fun, won’t we?”

Her hand moves downwards and finds his own, threading their fingers together, and he’s tempted to ask her if finally he’s getting back some decent karma, but then he decides it’s better kept for some other time.

“I’m sure we will,” he replies, and maybe no one more than him is surprised at how much he means it, but -

He thinks he could get adjusted to it. He really thinks he could.

——

The next morning, he wakes up to find himself in an empty bed, but before he can feel disappointed, he notices a folded note on the nightstand. He reaches out and opens it, squinting before reading it fully.

 _I needed to get a few things, I’ll be back in thirty_.

He doesn’t know when Ygritte left last, but he supposes it had to be a while ago since the bed is cold, and before he can go back over what went on yesterday the door opens and she comes in with two bags, one in each hand.

“Oh, you’re awake. Excellent,” she says, and drops one right into his lap - he opens it and sees that it’s breakfast for two bought at some bakery. It even has two coffee cups in it.

“That’s food,” she says, “and here’s emergency clothing. I figured neither of us would want to go without proper underwear.”

“I can pay you back -” He starts.

“Please, don’t even go there and drink that coffee,” she smiles, dropping down next to it and taking hers from the bag, along with a blueberry muffin. “By the way, I notice you always get dark chocolate stuff on set if it’s available, so I took the liberty of picking, but if you don’t like it we can go down there later and you can pick something else.”

He reaches down and finds a couple of brownies, both definitely free of any milk chocolate whatsoever, and he can only think, _she did notice that?_

“No, it’s great,” he tells her. “Really, it is. So, we should just get the sheets dirty?”

“That was my plan, I’ll leave them a tip later,” she says, winking before biting into her muffin, and if his stomach feels just a bit tight at _that_ -

There’s nothing bad in it, is it?

He eats the brownie and drinks his coffee and decides that it’s the nicest breakfast he’s had in the last few months or so.

——

After having put on the thankfully black and sober clean underwear she got him he puts back his own clothes - damn, he does need a change before they come back tomorrow. Then again, he hasn’t bought new clothes in years - it’s fine enough if he spends money on one change.

“So,” she tells him as she throws away her empty cup in the trash, “ready to go shopping? There’s a few interesting places nearby.”

“Such as?”

“I’ll show you in ten minutes.”

She grins, and he grins back without even thinking about it, then takes a moment to feel weirded out that he’s in _this_ good of a mood. It hasn’t happened in ages.

Maybe - maybe it’s a good thing.

——

Turns out, one of the _interesting places_ is a sexy shop, which looked fairly small on the outside but then turned out to be _really_ large on the inside, going down the stairs leading to it.

The moment his eyes land on a couple of floggers he wonders if he’s going to faint before they get whatever it is they’re here for.

“Hey,” she says, “I only use quality stuff if I have to tie people up. And don’t look that strung-up, no one’s going to judge you, they just want your money.”

“Nice to know that,” he says, stopping when she does, in front of a rack with _various_ items that would definitely help with such a thing.

Fuck, he’s going to faint just because admittedly it was one of those thing he kind of always fantasized about but that he certainly couldn’t _ask_ anyone for. Also he’s barely taken in the fact that they have some five different kinds of rope when he notices that one of the shop assistants is looking at them weird.

“Am I being paranoid or that guy is wondering what the hell are we doing in there?”

Ygritte glances at him. “Obviously he’s not paid enough. Whatever, don’t mind him. So, you want to go for the actual _tying up_ or you were being metaphorical? I’m down with handcuffs too, but I had a feeling they might not be your thing.”

He stares at a pair in front of him and he feels cold sweat surge through his back.

“No,” he says immediately. “I mean, they wouldn’t be my thing.”

“I had figured. Well, _you_ ’re the one who has to be comfortable, so just pick a pair. There isn’t much choice, I guess, but at least these shouldn’t chafe too much.”

Shit, and what does he know? He runs his fingers along a few types, immediately discarding jute because it feels too rough and it doesn’t seem to bend nicely and he’s gotten through enough exercising drills with rough rope already, thanks very much. Eventually, the one that feels better is admittedly hemp, but then he looks at the price and tosses it back where he found it, settling for a way cheaper synthetic one.

“There,” he says. He doesn’t even like that it’s bright yellow, but that’s not the point.

“Right,” she hums, and then puts it back where it came from and grabs a bundle of the hemp rope.

“What -”

“I pay attention,” she winks. “And unless you like it rough, this’d work better anyway. So, anything else that strikes your fancy?”

“Not particularly,” he admits.

“Fair enough, it’s not really that great of a shop. Never mind that, next time there’ll be the internet.”

She grabs a pack of condoms and some lube before throwing it on the check-out. The same guy from before is still looking at her _weird_.

She stares back. “How long have you been here?”

“Sorry?”

“How long have you been working here?”

“How is that your business?” He asks, ringing their purchases.

“I suppose not long, because then you wouldn’t be wondering why _I_ am paying. Some of us can go beyond the missionary position. And how much will that be?”

He mutters a total, takes her money and keeps on glancing weird at him, too.

Jon huffs, deciding he’s done with it. “You know, _some of us_ don’t like being on top. Now are you done judging my tastes or what?”

“I wasn’t -”

“Tell that to someone else,” he mutters, and when Ygritte’s finally handed their purchases he hightails it out of the damned shop.

“Well,” she says, “I’m definitely not going back.”

“Me neither,” he agrees. “So, uh -”

“I was thinking we should get clothes. Then we can have lunch. _Then_ we can have some more fun, unless you wanted to do anything else this afternoon.”

“Sounds great, actually,” he says, and hell, he thinks he kind of can’t wait to see if the second time’s a charm, because if it was -

“Excellent. Well, let’s find the damned clothes then.”

——

Four hours, one lunch, some twenty fans wanting a picture and a bag of clothes later - he stuck to new jeans and a new black shirt while she got a new dress, but she insisted to pay for it, too, and he let her if only because it kind of felt nice to not be expected to - they’re back at their bed and breakfast and the red bag is on the only desk in the room.

Jon feels like it’s staring at him.

Which is weird, especially because they haven’t exactly talked about sex during lunch and it felt _nice_ \- she’s great to talk to regardless of anything else and she doesn’t mind if he just listens to her rather than having to pitch in all the time (most people think he’s not paying attention or doesn’t care enough to give an input), and fuck but he hasn’t felt this at ease with anyone he’s not related to since high school, he thinks. Maybe not even then.

Good thing that she grabs it and dumps the content on the table without paying attention to the fact that he might be internally freaking out a bit, all over again.

“So,” she grins, “I take you’ve never done this.”

He snorts. “Not in this kind of situation, no, and you can guess I wouldn’t have asked anyone.”

“Fair enough. Shoes off,” she says casually as she unties the rope and finds some scissors. “Right, I don’t know if doing both hands and feet is a good idea the first time. Hands only?”

He thinks about it. “Yeah,” he agrees immediately. He doesn’t think he’d take _badly_ to it, but who knows. He did go through some drills where you’d have to get out of being tied to a chair with both hands and feet after all. “I’d say hands only.”

He moves to take off his shirt, but then she shakes her head. “No, wait a moment.”

She cuts off two lengthy pieces of rope from the initial bundle and then moves back on the bed, her knee going in between his spread thighs.

Then she puts the rope on the side and starts unbuttoning his shirt, very slowly, and pushes it off his shoulders in one swift motion before throwing it on the ground.

“Better. Lean back?”

He does at once, his back against the pillows, and she takes a good look at him before grabbing one of the pieces of rope and tying it around his wrist and then to the headboard - she does it with a certain practice, and when he pulls a moment later, the knot is strong enough to hold but not so much that his circulation is cut off, and the rope does feel soft enough.

“Good?”

“Yeah. You can do the other.”

“Gladly,” she smiles, and proceeds on tying his right hand to the headboard, as well. “Right. Try them out a moment.”

He pulls, but he can only move his hands fractionally, and he _could_ get out of those knots, but just with effort.

“Do you need them looser or tighter?”

“No,” he says, “it’s all good.” And _fuck_ he really can’t move, and he can feel his dick stirring in interest just at the thought, except that he hasn’t done anything yet and -

“Excellent,” she says, and then moves up on top of him and leans down and kisses him while her hands go to his belt, undoing it, and she starts grinding over him very, very slowly, enough that when she finally moves back, he knows he’s _way_ more than vaguely interested now.

Of course, that’s when she stops giving him friction and leaves him raging hard as her hands go to his shoulders and knead, hard.

Shit, was he _that_ tense?

“Damn,” he says, “I hadn’t realized.”

“I think it’s because you’re _always_ tense,” she shrugs, kneading harder. He almost moans for how _good_ it feels.

“Am I?”

“It’s kind of obvious. But it’s fine, no one’s saying it’s a problem. That’s what _this_ is for, right?”

The next time she kneads, he _does_ moan. And the fact that he doesn’t feel tense when his arms are pretty much tied to the damned bed probably says a lot. Shit. He might really need to relax more often.

“I think,” she says, “that you might want to try the full treatment later.”

“Why, you’re good at _that_ , too?”

“Just try me with your entire back in front of me. But not now, I guess.”

Then she moves down and rolls her hips and her crotch is aligned with his dick, _again_ , and he’s growing harder, _again_. And on one hand he kind of wishes he could run a hand through her hair, but having her hands all over him without being able to is turning him on even more, and he suspects that she’s doing the whole grinding thing on purpose because she’s grinning in a way that makes it obvious that she knows exactly the effect she’s having, and then she reaches down and grabs at his dick through his jeans and at that he arches up, the restraints keeping him back, and he’s pretty sure that whoever’s in the next room heard him, if there’s an occupant.

Then again, he’s _way_ beyond giving a shit.

And Ygritte most probably never gave a shit in the first place because then she _squeezes_ and maybe years ago he’d have frozen in horror at realizing that he came _this_ fast without even having her mouth on him or being inside her or being _out of his clothing_ , but before he can start feeling bad about it she slams her mouth against his again and _finally_ pulls his trousers and boxers off, and good riddance because both _definitely_ will need a wash.

Then her hand is at the back of his head, her fingers grasping tight at his hair, and he has to look up at her - he couldn’t move his head much, anyway.

“Do you remember what I said yesterday?”

“At what point?” He groans, feeling spent but absolutely not _done_.

“When I said I wanted to see how many times I could get you to come in a row,” she smiles, and he _has_ to smile back at that.

“Right. I do.”

“Then stop feeling like you performed _poorly_ because I don’t believe in any bullshit about how more manly it is to hold on before you come and let’s see if I haven’t lost practice lately.”

“Doesn’t look like that,” he blurts.

“Well, in between the movie and other things, I haven’t been with anyone in months. Too bad. Just relax, will you?” And then she’s poured some of that lube on her hand and she’s started jerking him off, _again_ , but she doesn’t do _just_ that - while her hand is on his dick, her mouth is on his neck or his shoulder or his chest or running over his jaw, and her free hand is still grasping strongly at his hair, enough that he’s _still_ but not enough to hurt, and fuck but her mouth feels _good_ wherever it lands, and by the time he’s half-hard again for good he feels like the whole of his neck is on fire. Shit, he’s sure she must have left a bruise right under it where she bit not too strongly and sucked a hickey, but he absolutely doesn’t mine, _hell no_ , and then her hand slips at his neck, grabbing the back, and her hair is falling all over his shoulders and his face and when she leans down and sucks on his bottom lip he arches upwards, _again_ , and he’s spilling against her hand, _again_ , and this time he’s not thinking that he should have lasted longer. This time he’s thinking that the knots pressing against his wrists feel just _right_ and that her knees around his hips are closing is just right and her mouth against his is even more right, and he doesn’t think he’s tense anymore. Or at least, there isn’t a part of him beyond his wrists that feels _tense_.

Her hand squeezes at his cock again before she moves it away, and he’s maybe not being too vocal but she _does_ hear the half-sound of protest he makes when she looks about to wipe it on the sheets.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Did I guess right?” She asks, moving her palm not an inch from his face.

He kisses it, and she doesn’t move it at all as he cleans it off, swallowing salt, but the way she looks down at him when he’s done and turns his head so that he can meet her eyes makes his insides turn all over themselves, in the good way.

“Never mind, I suppose I did,” she says, and he wishes he could reply but the more time passes the less he feels like _talking_ , so he just nods and falls back against the pillows, barely noticing how sticky the both of them got, and then she leans up just enough to slip off her panties and can you blame him for licking his lips at the sight?

He guesses she doesn’t need to ask him if he’s good with what she’s thinking of after that, because then he’s angling himself slightly better as she kneels above him at just the right height, _both_ of her hands carding through his hair, and _fuck_ but he stills for a moment after he realizes how wet she is the moment his mouth touches her clit.

Maybe after they’re done he should tell her that no one else ever got this worked up just by doing things to _him_ , but that’s going to be not _now_ , and so he proceeds on licking along her clit once, twice, thrice, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make her come just from _that_ and when, not long later, he feels her thighs clenching before she leans back a bit, he feels maybe more than a tiny bit satisfied with himself as she comes and the lower half of his face gets drenched. He can feel her fingers slightly shaking as they keep on holding his head up and he just stays there until she moves back enough that he finally can see her face again - her cheeks are flushed and her lips are bright red and she looks like she _really_ had the time of her life.

Great. That was - that was exactly what he was hoping for, and -

“Fuck,” Ygritte says, “you might’ve ruined those for me.”

“What?” He manages, half-laughing.

“Never ran into any guy who could eat a girl out as well as you do.”

He shudders at that. and he doesn’t ask himself why, but it felt _good_ to hear her say it.

“Nor into any guy who liked that as much, I guess.” She breathes in, leans down so that her chest is actually aligned with his and her hands are on his face. “Fuck, you do paint an awful pretty picture,” she sighs before kissing him again, and he should probably ask her where did _that_ come from because sure as hell he’s not _pretty_ , but he’s too busy kissing her back, and when she breaks it off to look at him again he can’t help thinking that she looks like she’s planning _something_ , but -

“Actually,” she says, “you’re really wasted on that cheap-ass rope.”

“I’m _wasted_ on that?” It comes out halfway slurred, but she seems to have grasped the meaning anyway.

“Totally. You know what, next time we do this, I’m going online and getting some _nice_ Japanese silk rope. I’m told it’s a whole other experience.”

For a moment his head gets stuck on _silk_.

“And you’d look _really_ good in it. And maybe not just the hands?”

He momentarily doesn’t think too much on the first half of the sentence. The second, though -

The idea of _not just his hands_ being entrapped in silk is _indeed_ appealing, even if his first instinct is telling her that he’s really not that high maintenance, but she probably does notice that his throat went dry just thinking about it.

“Was that a yes?”

“What if it was?” He slurs, feeling like he’s almost floating just from the way she’s looking down at him and at how her fingers are lightly running over his face.

“I’m having that package delivered at my hotel as soon as possible then,” she winks, and then she moves back and doesn’t give him any warning before taking him into her mouth and working at his cock with her tongue until he’s half-hard again, and then she’s slipping a condom on him, _finally_ , and when she kneels on top of him and then lowers herself down on him he slides in without a hitch for how wet she is around him, and he had no idea he could come thrice in a row these days but apparently he can and _so can she_ , he realizes as she clenches around him just after he closes his eyes and lets go the moment she tells him to, and he still feels like he’s damn floating all along, and if his motions are becoming less and less focused as she crashes her mouth against his and his tongue meets hers again, well, he figures it’s not a problem.

Right now, _nothing_ is a problem, and he’s not overthinking anything and he feels _good_ in ways he thought he had forgotten, and he doesn’t even tug at the ropes _too_ much as he rides out his orgasm. And if his wrists hurt just a bit, he can barely notice.

——

He comes to with Ygritte’s fingers on his right wrist - she’s massaging it with strong, sure motions, and - right. It _does_ hurt a bit. His left is also red and that hemp _had_ chafed some, but hey, he did pull on it and as much as he wishes he wouldn’t, he _can_ pull hard.

“Welcome back,” she grins, sounding amused, but not in a mean way. “So, did you change your mind about how I might’ve invited myself to my own funeral by asking you out?”

There’s a lot of things he could tell her. A _lot_ of them.

But he doesn’t have the presence of mind to, and anyway, she has a point. “I knew nothing,” he settles on, because that about covers it. She laughs, sounding delighted that he actually brought up that damned catchphrase.

“See, told you I had a good feeling about it. You’re still up for going back tomorrow night?”

“Fuck, _yes_ ,” he groans. “If it was for me, I wouldn’t go back at all at this point.”

“That bad?”

“Except Robb and my brothers? _That_ bad. Anyway, yeah, sure. I’m not in a hurry.”

“Good, because neither am I. And I meant it about the Japanese silk. It comes even in colors and not in this - whatever. I hate light brown.”

“What, is it aesthetic now?”

“Hey, you’d look damn pretty in black. Or red, if it’s more your thing, but seems to me like it’s not.”

He laughs, some, and drags himself slightly closer. “It’s not, but I could make an exception.”

“Or maybe I could get both red and black. Now _that_ ’d be nice. Don’t move too much, I have to get to the other wrist.” She does, and he closes his eyes as she gets his circulation running properly again - he feels sore, but it’s never been the _good_ kind of sore, and he wants to taste it as long as he can.

“Hey,” she asks he doesn’t know how long later, “are you all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He slurs.

He hears her rustle behind him, possibly in the minibar, and for a moment he feels the fairly pathetic urge to tell her to _come back_ because the moment he felt her leaving the bed he felt like his stomach was falling into an open hole in the ground, but then he doesn’t and she’s back a few seconds later, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a hint to sit up - he does, leaning against the pillows, and he opens his eyes to find her pressing a glass of water into his burned hand.

“Drink that before you faint on me for real,” she says, nudging him in the side, and he does, and _right_ , he definitely needed that. Thing is, he feels _good_ and tired in the best way but he also can’t seem to focus on anything right now, and she probably notices because she takes the glass away and leans back against the headboard, an arm held up. He could curl against her side, but then he just moves further back inside the bed and lands his head on her hip, sighing in relief when her fingers start running through his hair all over again.

“Well, it’s barely five thirty,” she says, “how about I wake you up for dinner in an hour and some?”

“Sounds good,” he slurs.

And it really, _really_ does.

——

On the way back, the next day, she _does_ make him listen to the Spice Girls greatest hits for the entire time it takes them to drive to Barrowtown.

“Not my thing,” he tells her as they leave the highway, “but definitely less bad than I thought.”

“Good, you’re developing some taste. So, I _will_ see you tomorrow, right?”

“Sure you will, if I haven’t murdered your leading man for breaking my brother’s heart.”

“I _somehow_ doubt that might happen, but I’ll cover for you if it’s the case. Too bad because I like him, but I think I like you more.”

He grins back at her, kind of unable to stop it, and maybe they pull over and make out for another five minutes or so, but he hasn’t done this kinda thing since he was in high school and he’s _not_ going to say no.

Too bad that his mood gets progressively worse the closer they get to Barrowtown.

“You really hate it that much, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he admits. “But I can’t exactly change things right now.”

“Fair enough,” she tells him, “but - never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow. And just so you know, I don’t do monthly flings.”

She says that as she pulls over a block from Winterfell.

“Sure. See you tomorrow - wait, _what_?”

She smiles. “I wouldn’t ask out anyone I plan on seeing just until I’m around. Just think about that, Jon. And don’t murder my leading man, I want this movie to be finished.”

“I - I’ll try not to,” he smiles back, a bit more shakily, and then he gets out of the car lest he starts kissing her again and never actually leaves it.

He watches her drive away before going back home, his shoulders feeling loose the way he can’t remember them being in the last fifteen years _at least_ , and - no. No, it definitely wasn’t a _funeral_.

All the contrary, actually. He still doesn’t know how the hell it happened, but if she wants it to happen again and if she doesn’t want it to be a fling then he thinks he’s entirely down with him because damn, he _likes_ her, he likes her in ways he doesn’t think he’s ever like _anyone_ , and -

He thought, at the beginning, that he would have sorely regretted accepting her invitation.

 _Yeah, well_ , he thinks as he walks back home, figuring that since the lights are on and nothing looks out of the ordinary he won’t have to murder Theon for botching things with his brother, _she was right. I knew nothing_.

But right now, it doesn’t feel bad at all to admit it. All the contrary.

   


   


End.


End file.
